


Cyborg Beyoncé vs Zombie Paula Deen

by addykins



Category: Food Network RPF, Pop Music RPF
Genre: Cyborgs, Fanfiction, Future, Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addykins/pseuds/addykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fate of the future is now in the hands of a best selling music artist...</p><p>Beyoncé has gone through a technological surgery due to a zombie outbreak. This surgery turned her into a machine of war, and it also prevented the plague from entering her body. Paula Deen, on the other hand, embraced the disease. She became the queen of the zombies. What will happen when these two titans of media and modern day culture clash in what used to be New York City, but what is now a battlefield.</p><p> Zombie vs Machine. </p><p> Butter vs Perfection</p><p> Beyoncé vs Paula Deen</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

The year was 2018 and a lot has happened in the past five years. Cities have been destroyed and all order has been lost, and people have died. Many, many people. Like, thousands. Of millions. Of people. A lot of people have died, that’s what I’m getting at. 

But here I was, strutting down the empty road of New York City, it was empty because everybody died, looking super fabulous. My ultra sexy next season stilettos, I got them now because the designer died after making a pair just my size, clicked on the hard asphalt. 

I could smell it. A battle was to begin, war was to be waged, my hair was to be fabulous through the whole thing.    
“AHHHH HEY Y’ALL, IT’S ME, PAULA DEEN AND I’M GONNA EAT YOU!” The beast bellowed, and I turned to see it down the road. Paula Deen, the zombie queen, looking ratchet as hell. 

“All the single ladies, now put your hands up!” I shouted, before putting my giant bionic arm in the air. The metal hand split open, and a canon burst out. I pointed my now fabulous weapon arm at her. A giant burst of energy escaped it, shooting right through Paula’s stomach. It left a wide, gaping hole, but only for a few seconds. After a moment that hole became smaller, and smaller, and soon wasn’t even there. 

“It’ll take more than that to kill me. Now, yah see I’m followin’ this new recipe for a little somethin’ I call world domination. Soon, you’ll be dead and everyone else in this world will follow me. SO DIE!” Just then Paula Deen projectile vomited butter at me. I dodged it using my super cyborg dexterity. It was a good thing I was fast because her butter shots weren’t just any old butter, they were laced with a special acid. 

But hold on, let me back it up to the beginning. This all started five years ago, and it’s been one hell of a ride.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I ended the set with Halo before strutting off of the stage. The fans called for an encore, silly peasants. I was too tired for an encore, and what did they do to deserve one? Nothing. They did nothing but watch me be perfectly flawless. 

I sighed before entering my dressing room. Jay-Z was waiting for me. 

“Gurl I ain’t got time for you.” I said and he left because he was scared of me because I was a total badass bitch. Ain’t nobody got time for that husband bullshit. I was too busy making that cash money, and he was just sitting here waiting for me with a dozen roses and a dinner reservation to the best restaurant in town. Silly commoner, I’m too flawless to go out to any of those disgusting places with those disgusting people. 

After changing into my clothes that I usually wear, a blue shirt with a black cropped jacket that I got hand sewed by the Queen of England because she can’t get on my level and a back miniskirt that looked super kawaii. I was also wearing black knee high boots that had like 3 inch heels and had spikes on them just in case I had to kick any disobedient peasants.

I strutted out of my room to see a note on the floor. I kicked a peasant, I think it was my mom, who cares, and told her to pick it up. She was bleeding from the spikes but she listened. I kicked her again. The note said that I had to meet them at the park in like two hours. I lit it on fire with my mind before strutting to the park. I strutted there without needing a ride because I’m too good for automobiles. 

When I got to the park I noticed a super ugly sack of potatoes lying on the ground. “Move, bitch.” I yelled before realizing that it was Paula Deen, groveling at my precious feet. “Oh, it’s you. Paula Racist Deen. And if that isn’t your middle name it is now.” I said while signing a form that changed her middle name to racist. 

“Please, please oh great and mighty Beyoncê help me get my channel back.” she said, tears streaming down her ugly face. I strutted back to my home because I didn’t have time for that.

Once I got home I found another note. I ignored it.


	2. Stuff That Happens After The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues, but with the POV of Paula Deen.

I watched Beyoncé leave and buttery tears fell down my face. There goes my last chance to regain what I lost. I wrote another letter and sent it by pigeon because I think it’s still like the 1800’s or some shit. I don’t know when they used pigeons to send things, but fuck the sending things by mail. They cost a lot and if you can get like five pigeons well trained and organized they can send big packages for only a few seeds or bread crumbs or even a promise to not kill and eat their family. I like this mailing system, so why change?

Well, with my old middle name Ann gone I was now Paula Racist Deen. I guess that means I have to live up to my name, and to do so I’ll just buy a bunch of butter and serve it to people that match a piece of paper. You got a tan? Get the fuck out, I’m Paula Racist Deen.

I shuffled down the street, and Nicki Minaj jumped out of nowhere. “SUPER BASS!” She screamed before shooting me five times in the chest. I punched her in the throat and she died but I walked off the bullets because I’m a half butter so all I have to do is fill the bullet holes with butter and I’ll be fine.

I was a badass like that. But Beyoncé still didn’t want to help me. Oh well, I guess I’d have to help myself.

As I walked by this really cool cow farm somewhere in New York, I decided to regain the life force that I lost from that wig wearing bitch. I stabbed my hand through the cow’s chest and drank it’s buttermilk blood. Instantly I was better.

I did the same to like five more cows because I didn’t care and then I walked back to Georgia.

It took me like five minutes because of the buttermilk blood. Once I was there I was greeted by my two sons. They still had jobs so I decided to see if they could help.

“Hey y’all, wanna help me get my job back?” I asked sweetly.

“no” they said.

I cried a single buttery tear and then went off to bed.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

New York 2018. Back to the present.

Beyonce was charging at me and I must admit she looked rather fabulous. I’d have to ask her where she got her hair done because I know five years ago she got it cut but in that five years it grew out and it looked dope.

She shot more energy beams at me from her bionic arm, and they stung a little bit.

“Beyonce, you wound me. Not literally, though. I mean that you underestimate me because we both know you can’t hurt me.” I said looking at her menacingly. “You’re just a machine. I’m a goddess. I have the power. THE POWER OF DIABETES!” I yelled before my eyes ignited with diabetes lasers.

They could cut through some stuff. I’d say diamond but I never tried because after my show got canceled I could never buy diamonds.

My diabetes lasers missed at first, because Beyonce could dodge things super good because she was a cyborg. But then she made a mistake. Well, it wasn’t a mistake because Beyoncé is flawless but she did something super risky and it was good for me.

She stepped out in front of my laser to shoot a missile at me. The missile hit me and it exploded, but not before my lasers hit her robotic arm, doing great damage to it.

Her arm powered down and I could tell that she got type 2 diabetes. And then the missile exploded and I exploded but I could still tell what was going on because I wasn’t dead. My entire body bursted, coating the immediate area with butter.

But then, from the butter I rose, a new Paula Deen. I was still a zombie because otherwise the whole story would be ruined and there would need to be a name change, but my body was renewed and I was stronger.

“Get ready Beyoncé, because this girl is gonna run the world!”   
“GURL PLEASE!” She yelled, looking at me like I was some nasty ass ho. “Do you honestly think that using my lyrics is gonna help you. Write your own songs!”

“Your just jealous because I’m bootylicious!” I started to dance and sung the song Bootylicious by Destiny’s Child.


	3. Chapter 3

Present day

I watched the grotesque beast perform three or four of my songs before getting bored and strutting off. I strut to the nearest Sephora and re-applied my makeup, even though I didn’t have to. I was forever flawless, a quality I got from being Beyonce. After deciding I looked as fierce as always, I strut back outside.

Paula Deen just began her rendition of Independent Woman and it was so sickening that I almost puked everywhere but I didn’t because I don’t puke or get sick because I’m also a cyborg. 

Lifting my cyborg arm, I shot several rounds into the zombie’s head. This would kill any normal zombie, but not this one.

“Now why y’all gotta go n do that?!/@!!>? I was performing! Better than you, yah hear?” the beast grumbled before eating her hand because she was partially butter.

I was so offended by her remark that I strutted with my super fast speed all the way to Beck’s place, and grabbed my grammy that I let him borrow. He had been cuddling with it, telling it how much he wished it was his and not mine. Beck began to cry.

“Beck stop” I said and so he did because I had him under my mind control.

I strut all the way back to Paula Deen. She was still eating herself, and I charged at her with grammy in hand. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Filthy mongrels, I thought, staring at the children I was helping teach to read. I do good deeds like that because I’m flawless.

A little girl walked up to me and said she wanted to be just like me. I laughed so hard because it was the best joke I’ve heard ever because no one can be me. Her mom got mad and came over to me.

“dON’T YOu LAGUh AT My LITTTLE GIRLS DREAEMS OKAY/ SHe”LL MAKE IT BIG OKAY/ TAYLRO SWFTE IS BTR ThAn U, BEcK iS BETerr THAn U.”

This bitch.

This bitch got me so flustered that I had to strut away. I strut all the way out the building and to the peasant kanye west. I told him what happened and Kim told him not to go but Kanye went and ate the bitch’s soul. 

Kim started crying so I handed her a passport and told her to leave and never come back so she did.

The Kardashian family was so madbecause they didn’t want to move to Slovokia and I didn’t care what they thought because I really don’t like them. They think they’re royalty and all that and they’re just filthy peasants to be strut on. 

Kris stared into my eyes. I stared back.Her face melted off.

Putting on my blue and black dress, because it’s blue and black I said it’s blue and black if you say it’s white and gold you’re dead to me you filthy peasant, and my gorgeous diamond earrings and diamond stilettos I strut out of the school which is where the kardashians lived because I took their home and gave it to my cat. 

Jay Z came out of nowhere with a bunch of diamonds and flowers and chocolate so I sparta kicked him back to my cat’s home because my cat needed to be fed and here Jay Z was with all this useless stuff.

Today was a good day so far. Everyone bowed down to me and worshipped me, just like usual. I was strutting my way home to the White House (I’m the president by popular vote and by popular vote I mean I just came into the white house and said I work here and obama moved), and suddenly out of the shadows came Paula Deen.

“Yonce. We need to talk.” 

Is what she probably said but I strut right past her. I suddenly felt something hit the back of my head so I turned around. 

She had thrown a stick of butter on me. Shit was about to get real.


End file.
